


I Am But A Self Betrayer, Nothing But A Traitor To Myself

by exquisiteagony



Category: Murderdolls (Band), Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fem!Joey, Friends With Benefits, Genderbend, Internalised Misogyny, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Misogyny, Multiple Orgasms, One-Sided Relationship, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Selfishness, Sex, Shame, Smungst??, Smut, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisiteagony/pseuds/exquisiteagony
Summary: Joey like her measure of control, and she doesn’t care what her bandmates take from it.
Relationships: Joey Jordison/Acey Slade, Joey Jordison/Ben Graves, Joey Jordison/Corey Taylor, Joey Jordison/Eric Griffin, Joey Jordison/Jim Root, Joey Jordison/Joseph Poole | Wednesday 13
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will give a warning that Joey isn’t very likeable here, and isn’t really meant to be. Title from ‘Lawbreaker’ by Mustash. Ngl Joey’s perspective was very much influenced by Rachel from Orphan Black.

Joey was someone who knew what she wanted and took it with both hands. She always had been. A drumming prodigy as a child, she’d only grown better, and she’d more than proved herself as a woman in a man’s scene. Her bandmates had all helped that, obviously, because fucking no one would ever vouch for her without someone else going first, but she’d clawed her way to exactly where she wanted to be. Not at the top just yet, but on a sure trajectory.

Then the drugs had gotten to them all, and they’d all tried to tear each other apart before deciding to give themselves a break from each other.

She was lucky she’d had her other band to fall back to, even if she’d never had the measure of control she’d had with Slipknot.

Then Dizzy left, which was sad, but she still jumped at the helm of control as soon as she could, gutting the lineup and choosing her own new people. She’d kept their bassist, because he was pretty and the same sort of fucked up as her, and shoved a guitar into his hands and a microphone in front of him before grabbing two new bandmates.

They had been fine for a while, but then Wednesday didn’t want to play guitar anymore, so they had to hunt for a replacement guitarist.

He was lucky she liked him, and that she already knew who she wanted on guitar.

She’d wanted him anyway, but Acey had been busy with his old band. Getting dropped by their label was an opportunity to reopen that door, even if she knew it would enrage their vocalist.

She could handle him. He was admittedly talented and direct, something she appreciated, but he was also arrogant and proud, and she could just turn it all on him if he started bitching. He was arrogant, and she kept hers to herself, and she could twist it in her favour.

Once they had Acey, they could finally tour, his old band be dammed.

It was a breath of fresh air compared to Slipknot, though she would always love them, and wanted to return as soon as she could.

In Slipknot she’d been the subject of much innuendo, as was every woman in a band, because clearly she had to be opening her legs for them for them to want to keep her around. With the Murderdolls cross dressing, aided by Wednesday’s cocky arrogance that would make her wince if it didn’t deflect attention from her, there was more innuendo about his sexuality, so she could bask in it and behave as she liked.

It had taken over a year for Wednesday to catch on, but they’d argued it out and then found a consensus.

Fucking him killed two birds with one stone, really. He was happy enough to be used as a shield as long as he could get inside her, and she finally got laid.

The rumours surrounding her sex life had meant she’d never been able to have groupies in Slipknot if she wanted the recognition she knew she deserved. It had made for a boring three years, and now she could finally fuck as she pleased.

 _When I am queen you all shall see_ , she’d thought bitterly, the first time internet forums posited her as nothing more than a drumming sex toy on speed. It had been the last time she’d risked fucking Corey or Jim, which was sad, because Corey was pretty and dim and fucked up like her, and she had a weakness for pretty dim boys classed as fuckups and failures, and Jim was sweet and grounding, but she wasn’t going to let something as silly as lust ruin her chance at success.

_Oh yes, you can see_. She smirked triumphantly, jerking her hips to make Wednesday whine.

He looked barely able to hold onto the bedsheets, knuckles white, fingers twisted in cotton like he’d rather be holding onto her instead. He was biting down on his lip like he thought she didn’t want to hear him moan, eyes burning into her face.

As long as he didn’t actually grab her. She didn’t want hands on her when she was on top, the control was _hers_ , not theirs. The one time he’d reached to touch her, one hand on her hip, she’d slapped him out of pure reflex.

His whimper, confused and hurt, had prompted her to then reach out and stroke his cheeks like that could alleviate the pain, pressing her forehead to his and murmuring not to touch her as gently as she could manage. She wasn’t sure why she’d tried to bother soothing him, but told herself it was because if he never came back to her bed she might not get laid in the way she liked again.

Wednesday’s whimpers were getting more desperate, like it wasn’t quite enough for him. The look in his eyes and the desperation throughout his body, taut with need, made that light fire between her legs ignite.

When she finally came, it was with a grunt that sounded more like something Ben would make than her, and she rolled off Wednesday to head to the bathroom.

He’d let out a frustrated groan when she rolled off him, her orgasm tightening around him in what was little more than a tease, but he didn’t challenge her. They both knew she didn’t care if he came or not, that this wasn’t about him.

They’d argued about it the first time, when he’d soured up at her and called her a bad lay, and she’d just laughed and mocked him, leaving him to jerk off sourly.

When Wednesday had challenged her the next day, obviously hoping for contrition, she’d laughed again. She’d fuck around with all of them if she wanted to, she’d told him, less of an admission and more of a boast, so if he didn’t like it he could shove his dick somewhere else.

“I should make a fucking mold of my dick then, so you can have it without bothering me,” he’d snarled, but he’d come crawling back to her hotel room the next night all the same.

It was obvious he hadn’t really believed her when she told him she’d fucked the others, but she hadn’t been lying. She might be many things, but a liar she was not.

Ben had happened only a handful of times. The size difference made it awkward, though it had been with Jim as well, and they both wanted different things in bed, so they’d laughed about it afterwards and gone their separate ways, and she never told him he reminded her of Jim. They still traded innuendos, and they still grabbed each other’s asses, but rarely anything that strayed to the bedroom. The occasional hand or mouth if they were desperate, but that was increasingly rare.

Eric was the only one who resented the sex more than Wednesday, yet he kept coming back, eyes bitter and fixed on the ceiling or screwed shut like he could pretend it wasn’t happening.

“God,” she’d spat the first time, feeling angry and used and mildly sympathetic for Wednesday, though she’d never admit it, “you’d think I fucking forced you into my bed.”

He’d laughed so bitterly she’d flinched, so she’d scoffed at him and slept in the bathtub so she didn’t have to share a bed with him, and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of tour, only taking notice of him when they ended up sharing a room and he pulled her on top of him and let her fuck him until she came and left him.

They didn’t talk about it.

Their sex was always angry and rough and resenting, but she couldn’t find it within her to care. They were nothing but human sex toys to each other, and whilst being that to him was unsettling, it wasn’t like she wanted anything more from him.

And it wasn’t like she used him and Wednesday like they were anything more.

Yeah, she would only be screwed if he actually loved her.

The question of whether that meant she was screwing Wednesday in more ways than one was shoved down to somewhere where she didn’t have to think about it. If he was stupid enough to love her then he could wipe the clown paint off in his own time.

And she’d never encouraged him. She’d fucked him and made sure he knew he didn’t mean much to her, so if he was just stupid that was his problem.

Acey had followed her lead until she’d made it clear she was going to be in control. “I’m not your bitch,” he’d growled, the guttural noises making her wetter, then he’d flipped them so he was on top, pushing her around so she was on her stomach, leaving her to squirm and whine at him.

She’d been pissed at first, because _she_ was the one in control, not them, but he’d been oscillating between growling in her ear and biting hickeys over her shoulders, and when he’d finally let her cum - a thought that filled her with shame and rage, because who the fuck was he to _let_ her cum? - it was perhaps the biggest orgasm she’d had in a long while, so she just chose to roll with it and snatch her dignity back afterwards as best she could.

He’d laughed smugly at her little mewls and moans, and afterwards she’d told him she’d cut his dick off if he ever breathed a word of it, angry in a way that made him laugh more.

“You liked it though.” He had smirked, unbearably smug. She’d blushed and glared, glaring harder when he’d flicked her nose.

“ _I’m_ the one in charge!”

“I am _not_ your bitch, and I won’t ever be.”

She hadn’t spoken to him for a week afterwards, but found herself back in his bed all the same, so he’d been right.

Yeah, she might be many things - arrogant, cruel, rude - but she wasn’t a liar. Wednesday might not believe her, but she didn’t care. She could fuck them all and retain her throne, so she would, and she didn’t need his judgement.

And anyone who so much as suggested she fucked to fill the void in her soul, to use lust to hide a longing for love, could go fuck themselves. She was on a rise, and nothing could stop her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a short while, Joey was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much all the next six chapters were written whilst blasting the songs ‘Wet’ and ‘Groan’ by Dazey and the Scouts and ‘Lawbreaker’ by Mustasch on repeat. ‘‘Twas an angsty mood.

With Corey, it was always so easy. They’d known each other for so long, through friends of friends initially, and it had seemed so strangely inevitable when they ended up working together, like the universe decided they should join forces for evil, making fucked up nightmare music. They’d become partners in crime, more than her and Shawn and Paul, and she knew she should feel guilt over that, but couldn’t bring herself to. She and Corey were the ones who could be fucked up together, twisting around each other like the eels she saw at the fish market, entwined in life and entwined in death, as intrinsically bound together as sex and death, as the orgy of flesh both made, one in creation, one in decay.

Or maybe they were both irredeemably fucked up, but they were fucked up together, them against the worst.

It certainly felt like that, in the early years, before they’d really gotten out of Des Moines.

The sex had been something different.

It hadn’t been until Corey had broken down crying after one practice, the armour falling away to reveal what lay inside, that she even looked at him that way. She liked pretty broken things, and he was now a pretty broken thing, at least to her, and he was the same kind of fucked up as her, Purity proved that, so it was natural for her to want him in her bed.

In her.

To complete the orgy of sex and death, because she’d read somewhere that if something wasn’t growing it was decaying, and she was twenty three and half-thought she could feel that slow decay inside her. She didn’t know if it was all Des Moines, like the city was just like that, or if it was something within her, a beast of her own making, but she had to try to get rid of it.

As it turned out, he wanted her too, and he had done for a while. She was short, pretty, and in possession of a big enough personality to take attention off of him if he didn’t want it. It made her the ideal friend for him, with something selfishly tantalising enough if he wanted more.

And when he finally did, after a show one night, he didn’t hesitate to ask.

She accepted greedily, because she’d wanted this for a long time, but the sex was still awkward until they figured out what they wanted from each other.

The first time he’d fucked her in a bathroom, fucking her against the sink, and the thrill of the publicity of it made her giggle, loving every second of it. She knew they couldn’t risk it again, but it did little to offset the sweetness of their pleasure.

The first time she’d taken control it had been because Corey wanted her to, and she’d never thought about being in control like this before, but she found she liked it. Watching him writhe beneath her, hands on her hips like he needed to hold on to something, mouth open and eyes shut - the sight had been a boost of ego and adrenaline, and she’d cum so hard he'd followed, wailing his name and riding out the aftermath. She didn’t take control with him often at first, but the times she did were almost the best.

The most surprising - and the most thrilling - had been when he’d pulled her down the bed and proceeded to absolutely go to town, moaning between her thighs and not letting up until she was shaking and on the verge of trying to get away, overstimulation setting in after enough orgasms she lost count. He’d chuckled and clambered up next to her, before pulling her on top of him, begging to be fucked. She’d cum so many times that night she nearly cried, getting off on how Corey came undone beneath her whilst he got off on her.

His touch seemed to burn, as it always did, his fingers hot against her waist, holding her where he wanted her. Kisses pressed down her chest, winding lazily from her neck to her navel until she whined. Corey smirked against her breasts and brushed a thumb across one nipple before biting a gentle hickey on the underside of her other breast. He kissed back up her body after leaving a hickey over her hip, taking both her breasts in his hands, the palms of his hands rubbing against her hardening nipples until she was whining for more.

When he finally touched her where she wanted him, he chuckled darkly enough to make her squirm and blush. “Aww, I’ve made you so fucking wet, Anna,” he crooned in a voice that could make her feel deliciously small when she was with him. Two fingers slipped in and out of her, slow and gentle enough to tease but provide no real relief.

Joey could only tolerate the teasing for so long. “Just fuck me, Corey,” she whined, sweat clinging to her forehead, needy like she never usually was. He laughed again, and when he was finally in her, the feeling had never been so good. She pushed him down and rode him, his hands half-guiding her hips, and threw her head back, closing her eyes in satisfaction. Her hands were braced on his chest, the feel of his uneven breath and thudding heart below her palms sending a stir within her, and she came with a cry of his name.

That had been a better time; of pearly days and silver nights, everything seemingly tinted pink with their almost-innocence. After they had to stop, for their own sakes, a tiny rift had appeared, and however much they fucked off tour, it never went away. It made their last time whilst in Slipknot together bittersweet, and she’d closed herself up afterwards in tangy, sour rage, dragging up walls and making herself cold and aloof to deter unwanted attention. Corey’s mournful eyes followed her, but they only heated her coldness into bitterness, and then the drugs got to them all, and they were all hot messes and she couldn’t care less about what he thought of her.

He never called her ‘Anna’ again.

She’d had to get out, to retain her sanity, though the drugs never left, especially once she’d snatched control.

Returning to Slipknot after the Murderdolls just proved how indelible those cracks were.

She and Corey never fucked again, and when she got that fucking email nine years later, she trembled with rage, pressure behind her eyes she’d never let build up to tears, and took several deep breaths before announcing to her boyfriend that she had left Slipknot.

Leaving Anna’s bed had hurt, but Corey knew why she had to reject him. She did what she had to do to gain the respect she deserved, and their relationship was just a casualty, nothing more, nothing less.

He still let it fester, though, in a spot far inside of him he’d never let touch the light, and fester it did, into rage he didn’t know he could contain. He’d become enamoured with drugs again by then, and dragged the rest of them on a train of rage and hardship, of popularity and hatred, just to try and hide from the pain.

It never worked, and he always ended back at square one, internally howling and raging like a storm at sea in the dark of a hotel room. 

A fairer person might lay the blame at Anna’s door, but he wasn’t fair, especially with himself, so he shouldered the blame and ran away until there was a rift between them he refused to navigate. It was easier than trying to talk to her.

When she tried to come back, he wouldn’t meet her halfway.

They distanced until they were barely speaking to each other, barely able to look at each other, and it was so easy to fire her without a second thought.

They had become strangers again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve proofread this like seven times so if there’s typos I find after I post this I’m gonna *shriek*. 
> 
> XOXO


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is a different type of lover to Corey, and Joey loves both.

When she first laid eyes on Jim, Joey knew she wanted him.

As big as a horse and just about as docile, with long purple hair and almost mournful eyes, he was beautiful in a way Corey wasn’t, and she just  _ had _ to have him in her. Deep in her bones, there was a visceral, animal need to climb him like a tree, and that was a need she had to indulge.

Or she’d wind up just masturbating to the thought of him, which for some reason was a mental barrier she was uneasy to cross. Like, they weren’t fucking and he wasn’t a porn star, so thinking about him with one hand in her panties felt so viscerally wrong she thought she’d be sick if she did.

She hadn’t pursued him aggressively either, because she was half-worried he’d be turned off by aggression, but she’d led him to her bed all the same, and had succeeded.

Her smugness lasted until she discovered exactly what she’d gotten herself into, and it replaced itself with glee.

Because unlike Corey, who almost always liked it hard and fast to the point of pain, hands on her hips below her, Jim preferred to pin her down and go slowly, gently, like she would bruise if he wasn’t extremely careful. It was a wonderful respite, on nights when she was desperately horny and bone tired, not wanting vigorous or energetic sex, and the Peach knew how to make her turn to jelly, knew how to slowly stoke her warmth into fire, smiling down at her lovingly enough to make her blush and squirm until she almost wanted to plead, desire and pride competing within her until she gave in in the way only he could coax from her, so different to Corey’s methods.

She didn’t fuck him much, though, because he liked the slow burn and she was impatient. If it was a normal night she feared she’d snap at him to hurry up, and she didn’t want to ruin it all, so she chose to have him only occasionally, and savour it more.

And bless him, because he was somehow fine with that.

She cherished those nights with him more than she would ever say, and would think of them in the safety of her home, eyes closed as if her small thin fingers could replace his larger ones. She’d fall asleep with a small smile all the same, none of the mournful emptiness she’d feel with anyone else, and kept it a little secret to herself. Something nice, because it seemed to ease the ache of decay, or whatever the fuck it was within her she felt, eating away at her when she wasn’t playing or fucking.

Jim could sense how fucked up Joey was the second he laid eyes upon her. It didn’t stop his ardour.

If anything, it increased it. She was wild and dangerous, a hurricane tethered to mortality by flesh and blood, and she was above all, _exciting_. She was an embodiment of excitement in their sleepy city, a tiny shit-disturber, and he was drawn to her like a moth to a lamp, though not as helplessly. He was at least somewhat more aware of the danger she posed than a moth did, or so he liked to think.

Because sometimes she seemed so fucked up he was unsure how well he truly knew her.

He’d never have thought in a million years that she would ever go for someone like him, especially after hearing her and Corey together, hearing Corey call her ‘Anna’ when she’d never let anyone else call her that, but she had. She didn’t let him call her ‘Anna’, but she let him take control in a way he highly suspected she wouldn’t with anyone else, and he revered that, keeping it a little memory, a secret no one could taint by making him see reality.

What she had with Corey might be special, but what she had with Jim was special too. He clung to that like a lifeline in his own dark moments, when he contemplated throwing the towel in and running away from this life.

It was almost strange how she could be so destructive whilst also being a lifeline, but they were all contradictory fuckups, so Jim didn’t let it keep him awake at night.

He hadn’t realised how special it was until the morning after their first time, when strange joy had bloomed in his chest and he’d fought to suppress it to stay the jeers the rest of them would chant if they knew. She appeared lighter, the morning sun gleaming her hair into a halo, his arm slung around her waist, his hand curled around to hold her close.

He’d heard her fuck Corey, and he’d seen her surprise the first time he fucked her, how the slowness wasn’t what she’d been expecting and how she hadn’t expected to enjoy it, either. He’d pinned her to the bed and practically worshipped her, so slow and gentle she nearly cried from arousal, barely able to do little more than squirm and beg for more when her pride was outstripped by need.

He loved that, loved that she could let her walls down around him, so he was always careful to never tease her or mock her, just either gently shush her or give in.

And even when he gave in he wasn’t as fast as she’d evidently expected, just holding her hips down so hard his fingerprints were visible the next morning and savouring her taste like it was the best of meals, her moans a siren song that drew him to her shore.

When it was all over, he mourned her absence, but refused to shy away like Corey did. He wasn’t that selfish, and he’d always have a soft spot for her, some kind of love.

He was the only one who tried to stay in contact after she was fired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!  
> XOXO


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just two people who don’t really like each other filling the void with mediocre sex and angst.

Wednesday had been angry at her the first time, so she’d huffed and surrendered control for him with the warning that she wouldn’t give it up again.

He’d snapped that it wasn’t about control, he just wanted to be in her, and her ire had risen again until he’d bitten a hickey on her shoulder once she’d pulled him close, his arms not touching her, and the pain made her come undone.

She’d paid him back for it the next time, slapping him with sudden rage when he touched her and soothing him to keep him in her bed. She wouldn’t explain herself, because those forums perked up in her mind’s eye and she pulled her walls back up, treating his dick like it was nothing but a seat to bring her pleasure and not bothering about him, but consoling him was the best way to keep him in her bed if she didn’t want to give herself over to pleasure like she used to anymore.

Because she couldn’t.

Giving herself into him, surrendering control, might be what she wanted, but she couldn’t afford to. She could have either recognition of her talents or the pleasure she wanted, but never both, and she’d yearned for recognition since childhood. She still be able to fuck, but she knew Wednesday, knew him well enough to know the chance of him blabbing about how freaky she was in bed was too high, so she had to just ride him viciously for her own good, pretend this was all she wanted when she just yearned for him on top of her, railing her and kissing her like Corey used to.

Thinking about it all made her angry, and the angrier she became, the more vicious she was, so she always had to check her rage. That made her angry, too, but there wasn’t much she could do. 

The sex might grow boring for him, but they were the Murderdolls, and they had their choice of almost any groupie, so he could find someone else to give him what he wanted after she rolled off him.

Just as long as he didn’t try to make her share during the act.

Or ask her for anything more.

She’d heard the Frankenstein Drag Queens, heard of them and knew their reputation, and she’d been able to glean from their lyrics how desperately angry Wednesday was, how he wanted others to hate him as much as he hated himself. It was a piece of solace, because it meant she had proof she wasn’t the only one feeling like that, but it also posed its own danger. If he ever tried to love her, or worse - tried to fuck her whilst loving her and knowing he didn’t mean shit to her - she’d never go back to him.

Because he was a good attention seeking vocalist to shield her from rumour, and he was pretty and broken enough for her to fuck, but she and Corey had had something more, and her and Jim, and those were paths she could never revisit. If he loved her it meant she either wasn’t doing as good a job keeping her walls up as she’d thought, or she was a complete piece of shit, using his ardour for herself and giving fuck all in return, and she wasn’t that cruel.

She  _ wasn’t. _

And if he still tried, it was because he probably loved her  _ because _ he was worthless to her, and she was nothing but a kind of self mutilation.

And she wasn’t cruel enough to let him get away with that either. Not when she’d been there enough to know how awful it was.

Years later, she would consider reaching out to him again, to explain, to just talk, but it had been too long, and she’d see the preview of his messages and wuss out before she could even open them. When he stopped reaching out, she didn’t know if it was better or worse.

Realising how little he meant to her didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Wednesday had known all along, and had counted himself indestructible for a long time. Years of self hatred had built up walls bigger and stronger than hers, and another’s indifference was barely a glance off his carefully arranged stones.

Even hers.

So he’d just laughed at the pain and tried his best to pretend on the nights they were together, pretend he didn’t know, pretend he was still blindly in love when in truth he fucking hated her as much as he loved her but couldn’t stop coming back. Drugs helped him settle those opposites, but by this point anything did. Joey was selfish and blind, and he wrapped himself in his own deceit until it seemed second nature and threw himself into the role of dumb devotee until he only knew where the role ended and he began by the seething hatred blooming like some ugly flower deep within him.

Because it was no better than he deserved.

He might want more than what she gave him, he might want to touch her, feel her, feel like the sex was more than a bored transaction, but he didn’t deserve it.

And that was what hurt almost most of all.

Pretending she loved him back might have hurt at first, but enjoying what little scraps she gave him suited him once he’d gotten close enough to wonder if he truly wanted to know her at all, and she was an almost guaranteed place to stick his dick in when he needed to, regardless of how awful the sex was, so he’d kept close all the same. It suited him fine at his most self-flagellating, and pretending they were in love was the perfect little fantasy to hide away in when everything was getting too much.

It was great, even if she’d never acknowledge what she did to him. Because he could hate her, and if he could hate her, he could not care for reciprocation.

It was left to Eric to say something before he went solo again, though it was Acey who filled in the gaps two years later. 

The second Murderdolls run was also great, time and distance healing some of their cracks enough for them to work together again, properly close for the first time in nearly a decade, his hatred soothed and her less uptight.

Until she soured what little there was between them and ran away again. Nomatter what he tried, she wouldn’t return, and it became an endless series of missed calls and ghosted messages. He eventually gave up.

He couldn’t reach back out if she didn’t open her doors.

Wednesday knew she never would. Whatever she once felt - for him, for anyone - was gone, and there was no point chasing it.

His self-hate had left him years ago now, and he didn’t want to go back down the path with her if it meant revisiting his own dark places. She could manage without him.

She always had.

And he could thrive without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex and angst together? In one of my fics? It’s more likely than you think.  
> XOXO


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey is getting more intent on dragging them all down with her. Ben refuses to participate exactly as she wants.

Ben had been patient and gentle, though steadily, calmly dominant, even when she rode him, refusing to relinquish control, and the reminder of Jim and what she had before those fucking forums started slandering her made her angry and wistful, so it only happened with him when she was desperate and not on speaking terms with the others. He didn’t seem to mind, but he didn’t seem to mind much as long as he could play with her breasts, so she let him. It was easier - more transactional and less emotional - to sleep with him when he could take something from her she was willing to give.

Even if he always seemed distantly angry at her.

She shook her head, closing her eyes to that. If he was pissed at her, he would either tell her or blab about their sex, infrequent though it was, and she’d lose everything. He wasn’t angry. 

To be a woman in the scene was to walk a tightrope at all times, and he had enough ammunition against her to slacken that rope to make her fall. If he was pissed he’d take that opportunity, because she was too up herself and ambitious, everyone told her so, and they all wanted her taken down a peg or two.

She swallowed at that thought, rage bringing tears to her eyes, because it wasn’t fucking fair. Everyone else could play and have ambition and be adored and fuck as they liked, but she couldn’t.

It. Wasn’t. Fair.

She was a horrible person. She’d settled with that long ago, but few others would ever make that same peace. It would always come back to bite her in the ass, and she hated it.

At least Ben was kind.

Whatever anger he felt she only noticed after the nights with someone else, usually Eric, so she shoved her unease deep down inside and tried to enjoy those times, letting herself let up some of her control for him like she had much of a choice. Enough to sate him and spark longing for more in her whilst he snored next to her. Like Jim before, she’d think of him when she had some time to herself, except then she’d let her imagination run away with what she wanted. 

It had to be enough. It had to be.

It never was.

The yearning he left her with just ate a hole in her, one that tears and coke and whiskey never filled.

Somehow, it wasn’t the worst. 

Ben had seen the mornings after, when Joey left whoever’s bed she’d tainted, somehow perky and sated and disappointed all at once, and he knew what she wanted but wouldn’t take.

He knew he couldn’t give that to her anyway, not in the way she wanted. He didn’t like her enough to, not in the beginning and certainly not now, so he tried to be kind.

It made for rare nights, when he’d hold her as she slept and bite back wistful mourning for her to just talk, tell them what was going on with her, but wishing didn’t free the cloud of grief and rage hanging over her, and he was certain she’d close up completely if he asked her. 

Once that had made him pity her, but it grew tedious when nothing changed, when two years had passed and she was still petulantly sulking and angry. He was just exasperated and bored with her, and began to not give a shit. If she got her crap off her chest it would just make him sigh relief that they didn’t have to put up with it anymore.

_ You gorged on unfairness in Slipknot. Well, I’ve had my own share.  _ He wasn’t going to be a tool for her rage, no-matter how he cared for her, so he just stayed quiet and tried to provide at least a stable fuck for her, someone she could turn to who wouldn’t let emotion cloud them.

Even if watching how Eric wasted himself away on her could make his blood boil.

Wednesday was hopelessly devoted and Eric was becoming a shadow of himself when Ben wasn’t nearby. Acey was the only other one who seemed to have some understanding of Joey, but he was also a fucking brick wall, strong and steady and calm in a way none of them were, content with his own company and horribly perceptive, so Ben rarely sought him out. A shame, because sometimes he thought she might be talking more with Acey, but Joey had her own reasons why she didn’t share, and as much as he wanted to know, he didn’t want to pry.

And not just because it would betray her. He didn’t know if he’d like the answer.

Sometimes he wanted to yell at Joey. She was mired in unfairness so threw it at them, yanking herself up on the downtrodden bodies of others, but he knew it was no use. She wouldn’t stop, even if it made her sink faster than she could climb, and she wouldn’t let him try to help, her own pride a barrier between her and them. So he just let Eric retreat into him, and decided that if he couldn’t stop Joey’s destruction, he could try to protect Eric from it.

He’d try and protect them all, but Acey likely knew the truth, and Wednesday wouldn’t let him close enough. It left Ben in a rather lonely position, but then again they all were in some way, so he shouldered it all himself.

Once they’d finished, he couldn’t wait to jump at the next job, and then the next.

He never spoke to her again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is the angst train. It’ll get better, I promise.  
> XOXO


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric hates the sex even more than Wednesday does, and he hates that he keeps coming back for more. So does Joey.

She and Eric were already arguing when they’d started fucking, and the sex never made it better. She just rode him viciously, staring down at him like she could make him look at her.

It was a disappointment on both sides, for he alternated between glaring up at the ceiling and closing his eyes, the chewing of his bottom lip the only give that he was losing composure. At first it was angry silence and snarled words afterwards, her willing him to look at him and feeling used and hurt in the bathtub whilst she forced Wednesday out of her mind.

They only spoke the next morning, after the deed was done, any camaraderie that ever existed now gone.

Her slap was the final straw, because she was angry and just wanted him to look at her, drowning in panic before rage blinded her.

Funny how her attempts to get control only made it spiral away faster, but she was losing her humour the longer it went on, and it wasn’t funny anymore.

He’d barely reacted at the time, just laughing at her afterwards in bitter anger, the word ‘pathetic’ on his lips before they’d stopped talking, barely caught between his teeth. She’d bit her lip until it bled, refusing to be the first to break, and certainly not break in front of him, and then flounced off to lick her wounds in the bathtub.

The next time, he’d grabbed her and dumped her down on top of him, before tossing his arms to his sides with a huff and letting her ride him. It became their routine, him pulling her onto him then letting her do all the work, the only noises his quiet whines and her quieter grunts when she came.

She always felt used afterwards, dirty and discarded in a way that had her wanting to shower and scrub herself until her skin was red and raw, but she swallowed the feeling down, because she left those behaviours behind in high school, and allowing it to return would only bring pain she’d suppressed for a decade, and she didn’t think she could handle reopening those wounds.

More than that, it was always disappointing, but that made two of them, so she didn’t let herself care. She only ever went back for more out of hope, that it might be different or he might finally look at her.

She would always leave in disappointed rage.

Eric had always hoped for more, and the continual let-down had made him bitter. Her slap had stung in more ways than one, even if he hadn’t shown it to her, and he withdrew all affection he felt for any of them save Ben, retreating into his own world of listless and seething resentment and refusing to acknowledge her until they had to share a bed.

He’d retreat from just her, but Wednesday followed her with little puppy dog eyes all the time, hopelessly in love with her even if he’d snarl otherwise, and Acey always looked so fucking mournful, like he pitied her. He couldn’t trust either of them.

Ben might not hate Joey as much as Eric wished he did, but he still was the safest person to turn to, his company a wonderful respite from the agony of yearning for something Joey wouldn’t give, so retreat into him he did. It made for lonely days but at least the nights were less lonely. Ben would listen to him complain in the dark, lying behind him, and would at least tell him he had every right to be mad at her.

He guessed at what she wanted from him, but he wouldn’t give it to her until she gave him what he wanted, and they both knew she was too proud to lower herself by having feelings.

After she left, he’d watch her go, watch her yank on a T-shirt and underwear and flounce off, secretly entranced by her even if he’d never admit it, wanting more than behind used and discarded like some jizz sock, jerking off to the thoughts of what he wanted from her before falling asleep in misery.

She was an absolute bitch.

He didn’t know why he came back for more. He wished he could stop. Stop wanting her, stop feeling slightly more pulverised after every fuck.

Stop resenting and seething, and start raging.

He never did.

It was their final show as the Murderdolls. They had a hotel night before they were shipping off home.

It was the first time he had spoken to her in a hotel room for two years, and he almost hated to break that streak, but he had to ask. “Why?”

She seemed to soften, and he briefly fell under the illusion that she’d explain and apologise.

She never would. But he’d settled with that ages ago.

Joey, however, had other ideas.

“I want what I can’t have,” she mumbled, sounding sheepish. He scoffed, because that wasn’t an answer, in what fucking universe would that suffice, but he didn’t press.

Would the truth even help?

It didn’t matter, because she obviously heard his huff.

“If someone started making up rumours about your sex life for no reason other than to slut-shame you, you’d be fucking angry too!”

“That’s barely a fucking answer,” he snapped, throwing his T-shirt into his suitcase with more venom than he thought he had within him.

Two years worth of rage had been simmering, and he could barely hold onto it.

At least he’d get somewhere tonight.

“Fine,” she returned, her voice rising until he turned to face her. “I slept with Corey and Jim. Is that what you wanted to hear? It went on for two years, and we were happy. Then some piece of shit on some fucking forum started posting shit about me once people realised I was a chick. Saying shit like I only got the job cuz I spread my legs for the rest of them, that my talent doesn’t matter. Endless sexual fantasies and shit, so specific I still wonder if they were written by my high school ex. People joining in, jeering at me for this shit that was said about me. The worst part is that most of it is true. Do you know what it’s like to want something from someone that you’ll get fucking torn down for?! Do you know what it’s like to have others speculate and shame your preferences, only for you to actually have them?! Do you know what it’s like to not be able to trust anyone in case they’ll fucking tell the world?!” Her voice had risen to a yell, though still not hysterical or unhinged.

She had too much self control for that.

Ice slipped down his back all the same, because he hadn’t guessed that was the source of her anger, his suspicions had been far from that, and no it hadn’t been fucking fair for her, but his rage came back anyway, because it wasn’t an excuse. “Taking it out on us wasn’t the answer! In what fucking world would it be?!”

“I know.”

Her voice was a quiet mumble, her fingers knotting themselves in the hem of her T-shirt.

She looked almost pathetic.

That was what made him take pity on her.

“I won’t blab, if that’s what you’re worried about. I never would have done.” He swallowed. “For what it’s worth, Wednesday wouldn’t have, either.”

The look on her face at that made something in his chest crack, because love and hate seemed to be the same thing with her, and she sat down on the bed abruptly, like her legs had stopped working.

“Ben and Acey know.” It wasn’t a question.

She answered anyway, her voice wobbling. “Ben has a suspicion, but he never asked. Acey knows.”

“Explains why he pities you,” Eric replied listlessly.

He had been right. The truth didn’t help. It just hurt.

He’d wished for years that she would tell him the truth, because he’d been sure she didn’t care about him, and just wanted to hear it. To hear that it had nothing to do with him at all - with any of them - was a slap in the face.

He’d built up walls because he’d been sure it had somehow been his fault, that he couldn’t fake loving her enough to make her happy. The last two years had been built on that idea. To have it ripped out from under him-

He could move on. If she’d never said, he’d spend years tearing himself to pieces over it. It was closure.

He could begin to try to forgive her for it, even if she didn’t deserve it.

But forgiveness was selfish, and he’d let it go for his own good.

“Just tell Wednesday tomorrow,” he said tiredly. “Of all of us, he has the right to know.”

She didn’t reply.

Of course she wouldn’t tell Wednesday. He didn’t expect any better of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the final chapter, and probably the longest. Enjoy!  
> XOXO


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like Ben before him, Acey won’t partake in Joey’s bullshit in the way she wants him to. This way is better.

Acey’s bed proved to be a different sort of battlefield than Eric’s, and she was torn between hating it and loving it.

Hating it, because he outright refused to submit to her without Ben’s saintly patience, growling whilst holding her so tightly his fingers left bruises on her hips, and she feared the ammunition it gave him, but loving it because he didn’t tolerate her behaviour, giving back what he got like he was a true match for her.

The first time she’d been shamed and angry and surprised, so the second time she’d reacted the only way she could.

She’d wrestled her way on top at this point, and when he grabbed her hips to take his control back she’d lashed out in the only way she knew how.

He’d yelped, more surprised than hurt, and they’d stared at each other for a second, shock in both their eyes.

Then his had hardened, and he’d snapped back. 

His slap was hard enough to make her see stars, vision dimming, and she nearly fell off him, her right hand grabbing at his hip so tightly her nails made him bleed, her left hand going to her cheek, where she could feel her skin reddening, the pain hot.

The tears seemed hotter, but that was just shame.

Acey had no time for tears. He just sat up, grabbed her chin, and told her to grow the fuck up. She’d spat and pushed at his chest, so he grabbed her wrists in one hand, turned them both over, and knotted a fist in her hair whilst he fucked her hard enough to make her howl.

The next time she’d gotten pushy, trying to wrestle control back, he’d threatened to tie her damn hands.

“You wouldn’t!” she snarled, shamed at how the thought made her melt.

“If you want someone to be your passive bitch, go to Eric or Wednesday. I won’t be pushed around by anyone, especially not a bratty little bitch with a main-character-complex! If you want a human sex toy, get out of my bed.”

She didn’t believe him, because this was sweet, smiling Acey, calm and stoic and kind, but then she was face down ass up, wrists lassoed with his belt, and every snarl would be snarked back, his fingers so close to where she wanted them she almost cried with need. When she snapped back for him to touch her properly or fuck off he’d told her to shut up, and when she didn’t, the hand between her legs was clapped over her mouth, her own arousal rubbed beneath her nose humiliatingly, only making her wetter. 

He was still pumping in her, and only put his hand back when he was certain she’d be quiet.

She was going to say something snappy, snarky, but then he was touching her properly, two fingers rubbing in a circle, and she ended up screaming her pleasure into the pillow, and she actually cried then, the force of her orgasm bringing her to tears.

He was the only one who could make her cry. She’d once vowed that no one could make her cry, but these weren’t the tears she’d meant, so she’d let it slide. Just this once.

Afterwards he’d offer comfort, and she’d reject it as angrily as she could and wake up on his chest all the same.

“You get off on being cruel, don’t you?” she challenged afterwards one time, snarling from the toilet.

He came to stand in the doorway, his eyes as strangely mournful as Corey’s could be. Rage simmered within her at that, because he wasn’t Corey, she couldn’t have Corey, she had to settle for other people, and it wasn’t fair.

“No. Believe it or not, I don’t. But I’ve heard you with Weds and Eric, and I’ve seen them the next morning. In Slipknot you had a wide reach, and here it’s just with us. You fuck us out of revenge, and one day it’ll be too much.”

She scoffed, and he stepped forward and crouched in front of her, capturing her wrists. He was gentler than earlier, something of Jim in him then. “I’m not harsh with you because I’m a fucking sadist, Anna, I’m harsh because you need to see this isn’t just about you.”

“Or is it because I’m as arrogant as Edsel, but you couldn’t fuck him?!” she snapped back, refusing to let his words sink in. “And don’t call me Anna.”

Only Corey had ever called her that.

He sat back on his feet, releasing her hands. “Natalie Joanna Jordison.” He huffed out a breath, his gaze burning her cheeks. “I don’t want to fuck Edsel. Power’s not just about sex, even if it is for you.”

“I-” She leant forwards, chin jerked out angrily.

“You fuck us because you couldn’t fuck in Slipknot and retain respect. You have a vendetta against the world and you take it out on us. I’m fed up of your fucking ice queen routine.” His eyebrows were pulled down into a scowl, and his voice was hard. She squirmed at being seen like that, glaring back.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Really? When I joined, you were all nicely paired off. I’m the odd one out, and not just because I’m sober. But anyone with half a brain could see. Once you go back to Slipknot, we’ll be left to pick up the pieces. I’m not one of your broken lays, and Eric wasn’t until you hit him. Ben couldn’t care less, and I’ve known Wednesday longer than you have.” 

She slept in the bath again, unwilling to face him.

She returned to him all the same, and settled that on those nights her dignity would be left at the door.

Now, their fighting was more for posterity than genuine outrage. Joey still had to push for control, and he still pushed back, but she resented his control less every time.

One thing she would never accept was the fact that yes, she did indeed  _ mewl _ , when he went down on her.  _ Like a cat, _ he’d teased, his hands nearly big enough to span her thighs, pinning her to the bed.

“Fuck you,” she’d whined, and Acey grinned at her wildly. They both knew that if she snarled insults he would really drag it out, and they both knew she could take it, even if she was greedy enough to want her pleasure sooner rather than later.

He wasn’t quite sure why he liked to bring her to pieces so much. Maybe it was her little ice queen act, how she pretended she was better than them all when she wasn’t, how she could - or so Eric had told - manage to stay almost silent when fucking, like it was a physical need she detached herself from as best she could, like it wasn’t really her.

And maybe it was because he wanted to show her that wasn’t true. She was human like them, and her insistence she was something more would never serve her well.

Currently she was squirming below him, biting her lips like she could withhold her moans. He smirked into her thigh. Let her try to stay silent for as long as she could. He could always make her moan in the end.

Joey squirmed again, her thigh warm against his face, so he tilted his head to see her staring down at him, eyes wide. He smirked until she blushed and looked away, then turned back to nip her thigh, hard enough that his teeth left little indents in her flesh.

She squealed, bucking beneath him as best she could with his hands pinning her to the mattress, her fingers knotted in the sheet beneath them. He gave her a long, slow lick, and she actually moaned then, her hips trying to jerk into his face for more. His chuckle made her squirm, a frustrated whine tearing from her lips.

He wouldn’t give her what she wanted until she begged for it. They both knew that, and she’d mumbled the first time she found it hot, glaring like she’d throw hands if he got gobby about it, but she liked the lack of control. She loved the power trip of being in charge, but he suspected her enjoyment of their nights was more guilty pleasure, like she still didn’t believe she could enjoy them and be a talented human.

That always seemed to make his chest hurt, especially after she’d explained everything, so he gave her another slow lick, fingers holding her down, his grip tight enough he thought she’d bruise.

Her hips tried to buck into his mouth, needy, and he gave her another chuckle. She whined, her thighs quivering beside his head.

“Just say the word, and I’ll give you what you want,” he reminded, keeping his voice light. If he put any kind of emotion on that sentence she’d get pissed, and it would make for a shitty night for them both.

Joey just whimpered, trying to squirm for more, too ashamed to want to say just yet.

Yeah. She’d never admit it to anyone, but she was a complete masochist. He hummed, his face still between her legs.

She actually mewled then, his hum rumbling through her, and he grinned wider.

It didn’t take much longer for her to beg, tugging on his dreads needily.

He didn’t stop until she was pushing him away.

Afterwards he wrapped her up into a hug, rocking her slowly. She’d finally stopped pushing him away a few months ago, melting into his hugs. He’d cradle her from behind for a short while, before she push away to climb onto his lap, wanted to be fucked.

For the last six months of the Murderdolls, they were fine. Then they went their separate ways, and they didn’t speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! This was pretty fun to write, and my first attempt at finishing a multichapter fic, so I hope you all liked it?  
> XOXO

**Author's Note:**

> I might write one shots of Joey’s nights with them all but idk yet. lmk in comments?


End file.
